PAMIĘCIOWY
by Ksiezniczka
Summary: Small glimpses into the pasts of certain characters. Only G1 so far.
1. Chapter 1

**Don't ask why I started this. I'm not really sure why I do anything anymore. It's just a look into my personal fanon. As in, why are my characterisations so weird? Because in my head I've got way too many backstories for way too many characters. Figured I'd share 'em. What's the worst that could come of it, right?**

**You don't have to pay any attention to this if you don't want to. If you choose to despite that warning, don't judge me.**

oOo

_-Blurr-_

Nobody noticed him, really. They all generalised. They saw him once, and dismissed him as "the fast one" or "the runner" or perhaps something with a bit more creativity, but similar sentiment just the same.

No one ever asked why. Most probably never even realised there was a reason he was always running, always so panicky. That was fine with Blurr. He didn't want to talk about it anyway. He didn't want to remember that there were memories he was running from.

Memories of Decepticons trashing his home. Memories of his creator hiding him where he could watch the older mech be brutally murdered by those cruel soldiers wearing the menacing purple insignia. Memories of one of those fliers finding him and laughing at his fear, opening panels despite his protests and tossing him off to the other Decepticons when he'd gotten his fill.

And as soon as he could get away, he ran, not looking back as the Decepticons killed what was left of his former friends and family. The guilt couldn't catch him if he ran fast enough, right?

He'd never stopped running.

_-Sunstreaker-_

"Designations?" the older mech asked, sighing at the two younglings in the prison cell. How had two so young - Primus, they were just kids! - ended up on the streets, stealing what there should have been enough of?

It wasn't the first time these two had come through this particular jail. They always acted the same. He didn't even know why he asked them anything anymore, as he never got anything out of them. The red one was nonchalant, speaking for the both of them, but never saying anything, as if he was using the nonchalance to hide something much more serious. The yellow one usually settled for just glaring.

It would be different today, though, as the red twin had damaged his vocal processor in the scuffle trying to escape being caught again.

"Designations." He repeated patiently. It broke his spark to see these two again; he wished he could somehow reach out to them, but knew they'd never accept it. Twins rarely accepted anything from anyone else, feeling no need for anything but each other, and so he'd be forced to once again write them up and let them back into the streets to cause more trouble.

The yellow didn't look him in the optic as he finally answered, "S-S-Sunstr-streaker..."

Ah. So that was why the yellow never spoke to him.

_-Jazz-_

Full optic replacement surgery was extremely expensive and dangerous, to the point that it would permanently damage the CPU if done more than once. Simply repairing the glass was easy enough, but to actually change the colour was much, much more work, as that came from a light somewhat behind the glass, connected to the visual processor.

Before the war, optic colour had ranged from white to purple, and everywhere in between, but soon those who followed Megatron got red optics in his honour, and likewise for those who followed Sentinel Prime.

At the time, it had all seemed right. Megatron was charismatic, and his speeches really did make it seem like his cause was just, and good for Cybertron. At the time, it had been easy to believe the totalitarian government was the reason for the energy shortage, and that the Decepticons could rise up and come out on top.

He'd only realised how wrong he was when they'd left him on the battlefield to die. That was when Optimus and Prowl found him. And unlike the Decepticons, they wouldn't let him die, regardless of faction. However, some of the lesser Autobots - all deactivated by now, most likely - hadn't trusted those optics, glowing viciously red like those of the mech he had once trusted with his life.

Jazz knew he'd been young and naive. But even now, so late in the war, would others realise that if they knew what was under the visor?

_-Carly-_

It absolutely killed her that she couldn't remember.

Sure, she loved her parents and her friends, and she was greatful for her intelligence and beauty and sheer luck. She knew she'd had a good life thanks to the man and woman she called Daddy and Mom.

But... but they weren't _really _her parents. She couldn't even bring herself to use their last name in association with herself, regardless of how greatful she was to them.

She constantly thought back, remembering the day they'd come to the orphanage and chosen the misfit older orphan instead of one of the cuter toddlers. Before that, she knew she'd been outcast among the orphans for making up fanciful stories about her dead parents, that they were still alive and would come to her someday and she'd be a princess. Girlish fantasies. She remembered being found with a concussion by one of the nuns at the age of about 8.

She couldn't remember anything before that, no matter how hard she tried.

She didn't even know if Carly was her real name.

_-To Be Continued?-_

**If you'd like to see more, just tell me. I've got theories for Ratchet, Wheeljack, the Seekers, Ra(o)ul, Soundwave, and Arcee too.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Eh, why not? Enough of these were swimming around in my head for a part two.**

oOo

_-Carly-_

"I'm what?" the pretty blonde girl finally managed to squeak out. She'd been opening and closing her painted mouth in a manner quite similar to a fish for the last few minutes.

"You honestly didn't think there was a reason you missed your period?" the doctor asked, in a kind tone of voice.

"I thought it was stress!" she cried out. "I can't be pregnant! My parents will kill me!"

The doctor tried to calm her down, but at that point Carly wasn't listening. Why oh why had she let Spike, of all people... he wasn't even her age! And he was nice to her, but she was more interested in the Autobots than any of the Witwickys.

Including the one that was now growing inside of her.

"What am I gonna do?" she moaned, bringing her hands to her face. Her parents would disown her if they found out she had sex before she was even married-

Wait...

_-Arcee-_

It horrified her to find out.

Their species wasn't as prosperous as it once had been, and she knew it. They all knew it. It was a product of war. That was why she had left Elita-One's squad to join Ultra Magnus's and see the universe why she still could.

And now as they flew over what was left of Cybertron after Unicron's attack, she shivered at the memory.

She had left. She felt like she should have been there for them, but what would she have done? It was illogical and she knew it, but she couldn't help but feel regretful as she looked down on the remains of her home. Kaon, Iacon, Dimethicone... they were gone. They were all gone.

And with them, countless lives. Elita-One, Moonracer, Chromia, Flare-Up... _all _the other femmes. Gone.

"I'm..." she murmured to herself sadly, with realisation. "I'm the last femme... the last one..."

_-Raul-_

"Raul, right?"

The hispanic boy turned with a harsh glare on his face, his default expression, before his features softened. He kept forgetting he wasn't in New York anymore. Man, why had he let Tracks talk him into visiting Oregon?

"Yeah?" he answered the girl - Carly, he had heard her be called. "What's it to ya?"

"Well, if you don't mind me asking..." she blushed slightly. He looked so angry all the time and she felt bad for prying, but she had to know why. "Tracks said you were living on the streets when you met?"

"That's none of your business!" he snapped defensively.

"Now, Raul," a third voice, one with a calming influence on the boy, came into the conversation. "Is that any way to talk to someone who wants to be your friend?"

"She doesn't know me!" Raul exclaimed. "Sure she's friendly now, but what about after she learns about me, huh? Then what?"

"Carly isn't going to judge you, you know," Tracks knelt down, saying this in a lower voice so that the confused girl couldn't hear. "She sees such things within the Autobots every day that she visits."

"I've never told anyone before you..." Raul began, looking sheepish. "It's not easy, man, being gay... Even my own papá and mamá didn't want me..."

"I know," Tracks placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "But give Carly a chance."

Raul sighed, turned to face the blonde girl, and told...

_-Wheelie-_

He had two creators, a mech and a femme, which was rare in a time of war, but of course he was too young to understand that. His mech-creator had named him Wheeljack after an old friend, but the designation had never stuck. His femme-creator called him Wheelie for short. That name stuck much better.

His femme-creator was fond of singing little rhymes to him. He remembered that clearly, remembered her calm, pretty features as the rhyming words flowed from her painted mouth.

It was the last memory he had of either of his creators before the ship they were on, a ship on the way to a planet called Earth, to help out the Autobots that were fighting there, crashed onto the strange planet called Quintessa.

He hid, frightened, as the natives of that planet found and took prisoners - his parents included. He followed them, discreetly, watching as they tried the prisoners. Innocent or guilty, the result was always the same.

At first, he contemplated just letting the Quintessons find him. It almost wasn't worth living without his creators. But that wasn't what they had taught him. All the rhymes he had heard had taught him to stay alive, to survive!

And, perhaps to keep his morale up, perhaps to remember his beautiful femme-creator, he never used anything but rhymes after that. He would avenge his creators someday. He would make them proud of him.

_-Perceptor-_

She had been sparked before the war, when femmes were basically glorified prized-possessions. Her creators had told her there was more to it than that, but she never saw the point. Her interests never were in social standings or handsome mechs or whatever it was that pretty femmes were supposed to fret over.

Her one, true love was science. It always had been. She had a passion for learning which was frowned upon by her creators, but nothing they or anyone else did could squelch it.

It was a miserable existence for awhile, not having anyone to share such joys with, until she met a young engineer who agreed to reformat her into a mech form.

She had heard of such procedures. They were extremely risky, and illegal at that. But as it were, femmes weren't permitted to attend the Science Academy, or really anything else. So one night, when her creators were both in recharge, she left.

At first it had been hard to fit in with the other mechs, unused to speaking like one, and rather using the upper-class accent that most femmes and those from the towers used. Luckily, it was easy to just pass oneself off as a tower mech rather than a femme!

Vorns later, she - or, now, he - was drafted into a war he really wanted no part in. He wondered if his creators had ever wondered what had happened to their daughter Perceptor.

But there was no sense in wondering such things now.

_-To Be Continued?-_


End file.
